


not on a school night

by quietlyintoemptyspaces



Series: Jungle Love [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Embarrassment, M/M, Teacher Derek, Teacher Peter, Teacher-Student Relationship, mentions blow jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 17:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietlyintoemptyspaces/pseuds/quietlyintoemptyspaces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is leaning against the desk. Derek from last night. Derek, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms, top button undone and tie just this side of loosened, who’s staring wide-eyed at Stiles over Peter’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“Speak of the devil,” Peter says with a tile of his head and a slight grin. “My nephew and I were just talking about you. Stiles, was it?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	not on a school night

**Author's Note:**

> I got stuck on Peter's introduction. I didn't know if I wanted him to write his name on the board, because that doesn't seem like something he'd do. But then I thought about him having a ball and tossing it to students to introduce themselves, but that seemed a little too friendly for Peter. I might have him, some time down the line, just have him lob balls at students heads when he wants a question answered.
> 
> But anyway, here it is. Second part. No action, sorry, but everyone does their best to embarrass Stiles.

It was only one drink, so the headache Stiles wakes up with on Monday morning is purely blamed on Derek and his unneeded drama from the night previous. His mouth feels like peach fuzz and tastes like the potting soil his mom used to use in the now weed-overrun garden in the backyard. He’s not sure whether to be grateful or not that this isn’t the first time waking up like this.

 

After he takes a paint scraper to his tongue, he goes downstairs and meets his dad for breakfast, happy to see what appears to be egg-beaters omelets spotted green with spinach and peppers. “Dad,” he greets, and then goes to steal a cup of coffee because he needs it.

 

“Good night?” the sheriff asks. He waits for Stiles’ grunt before continuing with, “Meet anyone?”

 

Stiles quirks an eyebrow and sits down across from his dad. He knows his dad is uncomfortable talking about this kind of thing, but he at least understands where Stiles is coming from as a teenager. And the way Stiles has heard it, his dad had been worse at sixteen than Stiles is now at seventeen. “Well,” he starts slowly, crunching a juicy piece of pepper between his teeth, “I did. And it was great. He was great.” Stiles lingers there, shoving half the omelet into his mouth and smiling widely just to be obnoxious.

 

“But?” the sheriff prompts, watching Stiles shove his plate away and smack his head into the table.

 

“But,” Stiles tenses. “He found out I was seventeen and that you were my dad and that I wasn’t all that experienced and left while he still could. So I’m probably never going to see him again.”

 

The sheriff sighs and rubs his eyes in a way that reminds Stiles entirely too much of Derek. “You do know it’s not the end of the world, right? There are other fish in the sea.”

 

Stiles frowns at his dad, nonplussed. “You know, that’s the same exact advice Scott gave me when Lydia laughed at my efforts to woo her. And I’ll tell you now what I told him then: this has nothing to do with fish. So today I’m going to hang off Danny, forget about everything that happened last night, and try my hardest to make Ethan jealous.”

 

The sheriff shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Go get ready for school.”

 

The getting ready for school part is easy because Stiles doesn’t actually have to try. He mostly just throws on whatever, flies down the stairs, and then heads for Scott’s. Today is no different. “Better?” Scott greets with a grin, one hand on his phone. Stiles is almost one-hundred-percent positive he’s texting Allison, and it’s fifty-fifty on sexting. It’s early, but Stiles wouldn’t put it past them.

 

“Of course,” Stiles replies. “And I’m going to do my damnedest on getting Ethan to finally make a move on Danny.”

 

“You know Danny doesn’t like you as much as I do, right?”

 

Stiles snorts. “So? What does that have to do with anything?”

 

Scott shakes his head and texts Allison. “It means he’s not going to be as welcoming to your octopus mutation. He doesn’t even let Jackson hang off of him.”

 

Stiles shifts and scoffs. “That’s because Jackson is too busy hanging off Lydia. And he’s fine with me at Jungle. School’s not that much different. I even caught a couple girls kissing in the boys bathroom once. Like in the intro to that one show.”

 

Scott looks up from his phone long enough to frown at Stiles. “You mean The L Word?”

 

The stop sign must be strategically placed because it seems like every time Stiles needs to look at Scott full on, without any of his attention focused on the road, this exact stop sign comes into play. And he’s gaping, he knows, and it’s not entirely attractive, but he can’t help it. “You’ve watched The L Word? Dude, when were you going to tell me?”

 

Scott does his shy, bashful grin and blushes. “Allison likes it. She says it gets her hot.”

 

“That is—I can’t, I can’t look at Allison again. Never again. At least not without thinking about hot girls banging each other.”

 

Scott laughs until they get to school and as soon as they get out of the jeep Allison is jumping into Scott’s arm with a deep kiss that should not be reserved for the school parking lot. Allison turns to greet Stiles, and he’s probably doing a really good impression of a fish right now. No, make that definitely. Because Allison. And lesbian sex. “I’m gonna—” He points and turns and almost falls all in the breath of a second before rushing away.

 

Danny is standing at his locker when Stiles gets there, watching Ethan through the mirror on the inside of the door; Ethan is not so discreetly watching back. Stiles leans on the locker beside Danny’s and opens with, “I have a plan.”

 

“No,” is Danny’s immediate response.

 

“Oh, c’mon,” Stiles whines with a grin. It’s tricky, but he can do it. “It’s perfect. I hang all over you, Ethan chases me off in a fit of jealousy and then ravages you in the locker room after practice. See? Win-win.”

 

“Stiles,” Danny says slowly. “No. If he wants to ravage me after practice that’s fine, but I think he’s smart enough to know that you and I aren’t a thing and never will be. Besides, our new AP English teacher just paired us for a group project on Friday, so if he makes a move it’s probably going to be tonight, during study time.”

 

Stiles grins and waggles his eyebrows. “I expect full details tomorrow. And… wait. What new teacher? When did we get a new teacher?”

 

Danny closes his locker and rolls his eyes. “He transferred in on Wednesday. I suspect the only reason you didn’t notice is because you don’t have AP English and therefore it’s of no concern to you.” Before Stiles can retort a rude remark, Danny continues. “What is of concern to you is the new History teacher who just started today. Which is the class we’re supposed to be in right now.”

 

Stiles grumbles the entire way, following behind Danny and just barely making it into the classroom on time. He grins sheepishly at the suave looking teacher standing behind the desk and takes his seat. Strangely, the teacher sniffs at the air and tosses a sly grin Stiles’ way before beginning his introductions.

 

Only, apparently, Call-Me-Peter is all the introduction he needs before he starts lessons.

 

The day progresses slowly, sluggishly, as all school days often do for him, until lunch, when everybody around him seems to be making goo-goo eyes at each other, which is surprisingly off-putting. He has to work on his final paper for English, anyway, so he skips out early to head for the library, shrugging off Scott’s assurance that he’d see Stiles at practice. The halls aren’t actually empty, despite it being lunch hour when almost everyone should be in the cafeteria. There are a few students lingering by lockers, a janitor grimacing his way down one corridor with a mop, pop music coming from the earphones around his neck.

 

Stiles hears Peter’s voice in a classroom other than history and he stops automatically, if only because of the tone. Usually that tone is coming from Mr. Harris and is directed at Stiles, so it’s understandable. The replying voice, however, makes Stiles’ heart stutter, and his shoes squeak as he turns to look into what he now guesses is Lydia and Danny’s AP English class.

 

Derek is leaning against the desk. Derek from last night. Derek, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms, top button undone and tie just this side of loosened, who’s staring wide-eyed at Stiles over Peter’s shoulder.

 

“Speak of the devil,” Peter says with a tile of his head and a slight grin. “My nephew and I were just talking about you. Stiles, was it?”

 

Stiles is still gaping, mouth open and inviting, which is probably not a good thing, considering everything that transpired last night in the middle stall of Jungle’s bathroom. “I… um, hi?”

 

“Stiles,” Derek says, but it’s not a greeting. If anything it’s exasperation, and, oh, there’s that look again.

 

“Hmmm…” Peter’s eyes are narrowed, darting between Derek and Stiles. “Perhaps I should leave the two of you alone? Or, no, I don’t suppose that wouldn’t do well at all, would it?”

 

“Oh my god.” Stiles is going to die in an embarrassed puddle right here in the middle of school because he was stupid and sucked off a guy he didn’t know, who he never thought he’d see again, only now he’s going to end up seeing him – and his weird uncle – almost every day until he graduates. Because Derek is a teacher.

 

That’s not something that should be as hot as it is. Hot for teacher. Great, and now his life has become an eighties music video. “I… I’m… so, so going to hell.”

 

Peter, for all the apparent teacher that he is, just chuckles and continues to watch the fireworks.

 

“I… oh my god, you’re a teacher, and I… oh my god.” Derek doesn’t look like he wants to be reminded of that fact. “Wait, is this why you like, totally flipped your shit? Because you’re a teacher and I’m a student? Dude, I don’t even take your class.” And here comes the tangent.  “Not for lack of trying. I just don’t have the focus for AP classes. I mean, I’m smart, not Lydia-smart, obviously. Nobody but Lydia is Lydia-smart, anyway. And most of the AP teachers don’t really like the way I answer essay questions.”

 

Peter and Derek are both staring at him now, eyebrows raised in the same exact expression. Stiles continues awkwardly. “Yeah, um, that’s why all my teachers would never agree with that talented… tongue… comment. Which I should probably bring up never again, right? But the teacher-student thing!” He glances around quickly, because that was kind of loud, but he only sees the janitor, dancing with his mop. “It’s not a problem. You’re not my teacher, I’m not your student. I’m not really seeing the issue here. I know it’s never going to happen again. Obviously it’s never going to happen again. I just… I don’t see what the big deal is.”

 

“Stiles,” Derek stresses, and this must be his teacher voice. He’s rubbing his eyes with both hands, shoulders slumped like he’s the one dejected. “That’s… that’s not just it. Jesus, I was not prepared for this.”

 

“Hah,” Stiles laughs, mocking and harsh. “That makes both of us.”

 

Peter rolls his eyes, as though, despite the hilarity, he’s totally fed up with this bullshit. “Emotionally immature idiots,” he mutters, like they’re not all standing in the same space and can hear him. He motions between them. “Derek wants you to have his assbabies. Or it might be the other way around. I don’t know and I don’t particularly care. What was supposed to be a one-off became, well… evidently you kiss like a porn star and he still wants to screw your brains out.”

 

There’s silence for an entire minute before Stiles blinks. “Wow. You have quite a way with words.”

 

Peter smiles. “Yes. That’s why I teach history.” As opposed to Derek, who has no way with words and teaches English.

 

Derek’s glare burns through Stiles. “…I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

 

Derek nods. “Yeah.”

 

“Well, you don’t really talk much. Although, you’re dirty talk is like, really hot.”

 

“Stiles?”

 

And that’s Lydia Martin, standing right behind him, with her perfect hair and her perfect brain and her perfect eyebrow cocked. It’s a very demanding look that makes Stiles want to kneel before her and whimper. It’s not the first time.

 

“Ah… hi, Lydia. About how much of that did you hear?” He doesn’t want to know. He really, really doesn’t want to know. But she’s going to tell him because that’s who Lydia is. Brutally honest, emphasis on brutal.

 

She shoves past him, heels clicking against the floor as she sits in her seat, first row, right in the middle, and crosses her legs. “Assbabies, Stiles? Really?” Lydia looks at her nails, fatally red and potentially lethal, and keeps talking. “So this is the guy you blew? I didn’t think you had it in you.”

 

Peter hums. “Well, he hasn’t, really. But the potential is there.”

 

Yeah, that puddle of embarrassment? Forget it. He’s going to evaporate, disappear into thin air, because he’s not sure how much more of this he can handle. “Oh my god.”

 

“And you are?” Lydia asks.

 

“Peter Hale. I teach history. And I’m Derek’s uncle.”

 

Lydia eyeballs Derek. “Hmm. You share everything with your uncle? Or should Stiles be worried about two teachers riding his ass?”

 

Stiles chokes. He really does. There’s nothing to choke on, but he’s Stiles, so he manages it. “Oh my god.” His voice is getting squeakier, and he’s probably ten times more mortified now than when this stupid conversation started.

 

Peter simply shrugs and grins. Stiles isn’t sure he likes his history teacher anymore.  “The walls are thin. I overheard him talking to his sister about it.”

 

“Oh my god. By the end of the week, is everybody going to know? Jesus, the girls are going to be all over me on Friday. That’s it. I’m going to go hide under Luna’s skirts and cry on her shoes. She’ll pass me shots under the table. It’ll be all good.”

 

“You might want to rethink your plans Stiles,” Danny says from behind him, slipping past him. Ethan is quick on his heels. “Luna’s not going to be there Friday.”

 

Right. Full moon. “Shit.” Stiles shrugs. “Then I’ll just hide under Jackson’s skirts.”

 

Lydia smiles but Danny doesn’t. “You might not want to let Jackson hear that. Besides, you were supposed to be going to Luna’s to help her Friday. And Stiles, this time, don’t store your crap in the locker room. I’m pretty sure Coach Finstock still has nightmares from that last time.”

 

Stiles glares at Danny, but makes a mental note, regardless. Derek is still leaning against his desk, looking gloomier than ever, and Stiles has to fight to urge to go up and kiss his frown upside down. But there are students in the classroom now, and Peter is still lingering. Besides, the way they parted last night was clear enough of a message.

 

“Right… I should probably get to class, since you’re not my teacher, and I’m not your student… and I’m going to go now.” Stiles trips because he’s not smooth or subtle, and skids across the hall into the lockers there. He foresees the imminent doom of his head connecting to the hard floor, and he’d totally have a concussion now, and probably a serious head injury, but Derek’s hand is fisted in the front of his shirt, nostril’s flared, sharp teeth peeking through his lips, and eyes glowing an unnatural blue.

 

Stiles throws his head back – which is stupid, because the floor is still there, and still very much hard – and laughs. “Oh my god, dude. You’re a w….” Stiles stops himself in time, because blurting out the word werewolf is not something he wants to do in the middle of school just as lunch is ending. Stiles lowers his voice. “Do you need chains, too? Because I totally have chains.”

 

“How do you…?” Derek starts, frowning again. It’s actually kind of adorable, Stiles thinks, after a while. But students are starting to loiter in the halls and no doubt this is bound to get attention. Derek automatically drops him, but luckily it’s not that long of a fall, so it’s mostly just Stiles’ breath, rather than his brain, that gets knocked out of him.  “We’ll talk later,” Derek says, and then leaves him on the floor and heads into his classroom.

 

Stiles just kind of lies there, at least until Jackson comes and decides to kick him while he’s down. Literally. He’s not expecting Stiles’ octopus mutation though, and ends up walking to their next class, cursing, with Stiles attached to his leg.

**Author's Note:**

> Luna is a werewolf drag queen, by the way, in case that wasn't properly conveyed.
> 
> On another note, I've figured out how to switch from HTML to rich text... or as I call it, the one with the buttons so I can do italics without learning a new language. Is it sad that I feel accomplished about that?
> 
> My tumblr: effortlessandnonetooserious.tumblr.com


End file.
